Hunted
by Niknakz93
Summary: :AU: For most of his life, Jace has been the kings personal assassin. Valentine's Arrow. Between assignments, the search for his parents killers continues. Obey, search and kill, his personal mandate. But what happens when the kings daughter steps into his dark and secretive world and promptly shatters it apart? -Clace- R&R?
1. Prologue

_So I was reading Throne of Glass by the amazing Sarah when this idea popped into my head. So you could say some bits and pieces are based on it. Like Existence was based on Sarah Rees Brennan's 'Unspoken' and Untamed is based on Maggie Stiefvater's The Scorpio Races. Ahhh I usually hate books on assassins, but hell it was amazing! You should all certainly check it out anyway. _

_So yes, this is AU as usual. This is just the prologue for a start. And Clace! Gotta love some Clace eh? And it's M for a reason. You know… blood, blood, language, sexy times and Jace's hot bod. I hope you all like this and drop reviews! If there's enough, I'll carry on and away we go! Thanks and enjoy! x_

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**Hunted.**

_Six years ago_

Summer that year was harsh. The rolling hills that were usually green were baked and yellow.

Lake Lyn was tempting with its deep sapphire waters, but the dangers the water held were too great for any man, woman or child to jump in. A reprieve from the agonizing heat.

The kingdom of Idris was in shambles. A total state of disarray; with no rain falling, no food could be grown. And the springs and lakes that were safe to drink had vanished, leaving the ground cracked and with no rain either, they would stay that way for months to come. Animals died. Crops failed.

People were starving.

People died.

The boy with the hair like the purest gold slipped through the crowded streets completely ignored. The market was in full swing, stall holders yelling at passing people to buy their wares, desperate for money. Why would they look twice at a dirty little boy in a torn tunic, no shoes and a rigid leather belt around his waist? There was a knife tucked in it, pressed against his side. But who didn't wear a knife these days?

And none of them around him would think that same grubby little boy would be attempting something quite so suicidal.

The castle was gigantic. It stood there with its _adamas _towers all around it, encircling almost. An impressive and awe-inspiring sight to all who beheld it. But inside, the tyrant king sat atop his throne. They said in the stories that it was made of _adamas _too. The throne repelled demons, and yet, in the boy's eyes, a demon sat atop it.

He didn't care about his kingdom. No. He sat in there lording over everyone, not knowing what hunger did to a person.

Jace was starving. More than starving; he knew he was going to die. And soon. His stomach was past the point of empty, and he felt so terrible about stealing from others that were close to death. He had to make a difference, or things would never change. The king's influence and cruelty would spread to every point of Idris.

The boy figured that if he was going to die, he might as well go out with a bang. Attempt something that would shock even the king. He certainly wouldn't imagine a twelve year old plotting a way into the castle, right into the throne room to kill him.

Jace was skilled with a knife. When he'd been even younger, his father had taught him everything he'd known. It felt like a natural, deadly extension of his arm. The boy knew he was good. Far better than most of the sleepy guards on duty. None of them looked even half attentive. They were obviously under the impression that the stone walls and reputation of a seemingly impregnable stronghold would be nigh impossible to sneak into.

The boy stopped at the East wing of the castle, staring at the grate, the river running through and under the place. There was a bar loose enough for him to squeeze through and no guards around. An adult would never in a million years be able to fit through. But a boy who was undernourished and thin as a rake? He slipped through with ease, shivering as the freezing bars brushed his skin. The water around his bare ankles was cooling and a relief since the sun had been particularly hot that day. But there was no time to waste. He had to hurry or his window of opportunity would be gone.

For ten minuets he walked until he came to the end, a passageway that was so dark, he had to feel around with a hand to know where to go next. He slipped into the next tunnel, the ground hard under his feet. Dry.

Jace paused, a shiver running down his spine- if he did this, there would be no turning back. This was treason. He was going to be killed on sight, or it would be drawn out and agonizingly painful. Maybe even hung before the crowds of Alicante.

Desperate people were dangerous. And Jace was desperate.

There was a clatter at the end of the tunnel. The boy yanked out his blade, heart pounding in his chest. It wasn't fear, strangely enough, but something else. An emotion that Jace couldn't name. It made him want to smirk, twirl the blade around between his proficient fingers before raising it and letting it loose at a target. But he saw no one through the dim light of the tunnel. When it came out, it led to another tunnel. One that his father had told him about-

_"You see, the king always needs an escape. A secret passage directly from the throne room, known only to him and maybe the captain of his guard. This one comes out behind the throne itself… he wouldn't even see you coming."_

Jace ran his finger over the H set into his dagger, heart heavy. His father was gone. Mother too. There was an ache in his chest at the mere thought of them. The boy cleared his throat, taking his blade into his other hand while he peered around the corner as carefully as possible. There was nothing there but for dust, dust and even more dust. Decay was rife down here.

There. Up ahead, Jace saw the door his father had described. It was a dark red in the faint light, but it was there. It was real. Jace took a deep breath as he shifted the blade into his left hand, muttering to himself, "You can turn away right now and no one would even know you'd been here."

He didn't turn away as he felt with blind eyes for a handle, or anything. A way to open it. There- a hollow with a small bolt in it. He carefully slid it open, pulling it open with his eyes stinging at the light coming in through the holes in the hanging tapestry before it. Jace crouched down, peering through a bigger tear in the dark blue fabric.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw more. Jace saw that his father had been telling the truth; the door was indeed set behind the throne. He just stared for a moment at the sight of the _adamas _throne. The stories had been true. It was inlaid with symbols, and from the back, there was a gigantic crest of an M surrounded by stars. _Morgenstern, _Jace realized. And those symbols made him frown. His father had had those symbols all over his body. Tattoos. Runes. Marks, he'd called them. Jace wasn't allowed to talk about them. And yet, when he turned twelve six months ago, a week before his parents murders, his father had taken out a slim wand of sorts and told him he was special. Destined for greatness. That he was a Shadowhunter in the making.

Jace had researched discreetly about Shadowhunters after receiving that rune on the back of his left hand. What did it mean?

He found that Shadowhunters were a race of people that had been eradicated by the king ten years ago. At least, free Shadowhunters. The king was a runed monster, and yet, he'd destroyed them all? His own kind? It made no sense.

Especially since his father had once been Captain of the kings guard. Made a Shadowhunter for that position. He was of noble blood, the Angels blood flowing through him he'd said.

Jace had so many questions, but they would never get answered. How would they be when he was hanging before the crowds by his neck for attempting to kill the king?

There was a mystery surrounding these Shadowhunters. And lies too. The king had tried to cover it up for sure, but parts had leaked through.

Jace could see the back of a white blond head upon the throne. _Him. _He clenched his teeth, aureate eyes sweeping the room- there seemed to be no one else in there. All that could be heard was the light scratching of a pen upon paper. He was alone.

Perfect.

The boy pushed past the tapestry, raising the blade. _This is for you my mother, my father. The people of Idris. _

There was a blade resting against the edge of the throne. Jace crouched down and carefully tugged it towards him. How fitting would it be that he die by his own sword. But just as he was about to unsheathe it-

_"I really wouldn't attempt that."_

Jace almost dropped the sword from shock. How had he-?

And then he saw the gigantic mirror at the end of the throne room. From where the king was sat, he'd have a perfect view of the… shit.

With a cry, the boy launched himself at the throne. There was no fear, only determination. One chance. He had one chance, one shot at this.

And he missed.

The king was up in a flash, the small blade the boy had thrown catching his side, slicing it neatly. Not fatally, but just enough to draw blood. He unsheathed the sword, the light glinting off it.

Valentine, the king, really was a monster. Jace had never seen anything like him. With his ragged white blond hair and midnight eyes, it was like he was light and dark personified. He wore not finery, but a hard leather outfit that was overlapped in places like armor. He was tall too, and broad. More than imposing.

He looked like he was dressed for battle.

The doors banged open and guards poured in, but to Jace's shock, the king bellowed at them, "stay back!" they looked uncertain. The king's lips turned into a sneer it seemed like. "I am Valentine Morgenstern. Not just that, a king and a warrior. This is a… boy." He said the last word like it was amusing to him. Jace launched himself again, but with one smooth movement, the king had grabbed him by the front of his tunic, causing the blade to fall from his hand and clatter onto the floor.

His feet left the ground as the man lifted him up, narrowing his eyes. "And why would you want to kill your king?"

"People are dying," Jace spat, meeting the man's charcoal eyes. He wouldn't show his fear, even through it was trying to creep into him. "And here you sit doing nothing."

The king laughed. "I cannot control the weather, you insolent child. The food stores have to last the winter months too. Do you think I should let people tap into that, then they all die as soon as the first frost falls upon Idris? You fool."

Jace hadn't thought of that. The king let him go, the boy crashing to the floor. His ankle hurt, but he scrambled to his feet. The guards took it as a cue to surge forwards. Two grabbed him under the arms in an iron grip, while another asked if the cut on the king's side was serious.

But he wasn't interested in that. Instead, he was staring at the back of Jace's hand. His forehead was creased into the lightest of frowns. "Where did you get that? The eye?"

A pause.

"My father gave it to me," Jace replied coldly. He'd failed. And this was the moment he was going to be thrown into the dungeons and forgotten about since he wasn't going to be murdered here and now.

Silence, then-

"Let him go."

The guards blinked. "My king?"

"Let him go or I'll run you through for questioning me."

Jace was let go, his ankle giving way as his full weight crashed down on him. He sat there on the floor staring up at the king, eyes following him carefully as he crouched down before his fallen figure. "And who," he asked quietly, "gave you that?"

"I told you. My father."

"His name, boy. Tell me his name."

Jace swallowed hard. "His name was Stephen Herondale."

There was silence, then the man muttered, "I was sorry to hear of their passing. Your mother and father, if you are who I think you are. Rebels never should have gotten that far into the city."

Jace looked down, refusing to cry. He wouldn't. Not before the bastard.

"We are not enemies, young Herondale. Far from it. For one thing, you bare the marks of the Angel himself."

"You eradicated them," Jace told him sharply. "Don't lie."

"That I did. The ones that were old. Too attached to the ancient ways. They allied themselves with mere animals. And monsters. They had to go. But you…" he paused. "You are new blood. Strong blood. I guessed that your father was one of the Angels children, and I was right when I put those Marks on him. You have power, I assure you. Great power if you truly are your father's son."

The words flowed together, but Jace didn't understand half of them. He just frowned. "What are you talking about? Aren't you going to kill me?"

The king laughed at that. "No boy. I'm not. I wouldn't kill such talent. In fact… I want to offer you something. A proposition."

Jace stiffened. "What kind?'

"Your parent's killers live."

The boy felt numb. "I know that. I even tried to find them."

An eyebrow went up. "You did? What did you find?"

Jace shrugged lightly. "Nothing. But I refuse to give up."

"Excellent. That's the attitude I need in this place-" he looked to the guards. "Get out." They obeyed instantly, leaving the pair alone. Jace was watching with his eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."

"I want to train you. You are heir to such an important bloodline. The last of your bloodline. It would be a shame for your talents to go to waste. You managed to sneak into the castle. Right into the throne room. A feat many have tried and failed. And how old are you-?"

"I am twelve."

"Twelve. And achieving that? I have no doubt that your father told you of that entrance?"

"Yes." Jace still didn't understand what the king was offering him. "I still don't understand what you want with me. Train me?"

A nod. "Yes. Train you myself at times too. You will be a god when you are older, I assure you. And my proposition is that you allow me to do that, and you become my arrow-"

"Arrow?" Jace was more confused.

"To be the one to take down my enemies. Discreetly."

Jace understood. An assassin. The king was offering him the chance to become a fully trained assassin… work for him.

"Why would I want to do that? Kill at your command?" he hissed, eyes mere slits. The king smiled. But it wasn't friendly, not at all. "Because… I can help you find the ones that killed your parents. The rebel group that slaughtered them. They are yours to kill."

Jace's world shattered. "W-what?"

"I want them dead as much as you," the king told him. "The Herondales were great friends and allies. Shortly before his death, Stephen and I came to blows over something petty. And I regret the last time ever seeing him was that moment." A pause. "You will have lodgings in the castle. Treated like a son. Do you accept?"

All Jace heard was the chance of revenge on the ones that murdered his parents in cold blood.

His eyes found the black runes all over the king's arms and peeking from under the collar of his neck. If the stories were true, the runes gave you powers. And that was what the king was offering.

He would never get another chance like this. Such power.

_"I accept."_

**-Review :D**


	2. Home

**Hey guys! Wow, I'm so busy at the moment and suffering from a nasty thing called Writers Block, so updates will be a little less frequent than they usually are. The next chapter of****_ Untamed_**** is half done, so that should be up this week. Anyway, hello! Setting things up with this chapter and the next? Let the fun begin. Heh. Hope you all like this and drop a review. Thank you! x**

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_Present Day_

Clary adored the wet season. She loved how the rivers were next to bursting, the land so full of life. The fields were lush green, flowers blooming spectacularly.

It was raining so heavily that Clary's guards, through their screeching for her to stop running through the puddles, were huddled together under the protection of the overhanging trees. She ignored them, letting the water soak her to the skin. The carriage had sprung a leak, so while it was being patched up, Clary had taken the opportunity to sneak out of the large and luxurious horse drawn carriage and take advantage of the rainfall.

Another hour and she'd be home. It had been too long since she'd been home. For two years, she had been in Britannia learning about their culture and mingling with the other royals, forming connections plus completing her education. She'd left a girl, and was returning a woman.

A rumble of thunder sounded overhead, making Clary jump and stumble, very nearly tripping on the hem of her dress.

"Princess-!" one of the guards yelled, half annoyed, half amused, "you must get back here."

"Not just yet," Clary smiled to him, water dripping off the end of her nose.

"You shall catch a cold! And you are in no fit state to be presented to your father!"

Clary ignored the guard, staring up at the sky with her eyes closing a second later because of the deluge. Forest surrounded them, but through the trees you could see a field of bluebells.

There was a snap from the forest side. Too heavy to be the rain. "Get back," the guards warned, rushing from the cover of the carriage and shoving Clary back behind them.

A guard next to her dropped, arrow in his chest. The blood ran scarlet, making Clary feel sick. She was shoved back towards the carriage at the exact moment she saw the attackers. There was three of them. Dressed in dark brown with determined looks about their faces.

She was their target.

As soon as one of them got particularly bold and took a step even closer, he dropped to the floor with a cry. Clary saw a small blade sticking out of the back of his head. She felt like throwing up.

And then, in the woods behind the attackers, she saw a horse. With its hide as black as midnight, and the rider dressed in such dark clothing with the hood up, they blended into the shadows of the trees. The figure raised a bow now, and a shot up her spine. What if…

But then arrows zinged through the air, catching the other two attackers in the back of the head like the first. They dropped like stones and were still.

The figure in the forest lowered his bow and Clary heard a mutter behind her. "I had no idea Valentine sent _him_ to accompany us back."

Clary had no idea who the male in question was. Her eyes were fixed upon his shadowy form. A moment later he melted back into the forest, but she could feel the eyes watching her.

A guard stepped towards Clary while the others picked up their fallen comrade. "I'm sorry Princess, but leak or not, we must press on. There might be more."

Clary nodded, climbing into the carriage and allowing them to shut it behind her. They were one guard down, and from the words outside, the guard was dead. She frowned when they suggested leaving his body there to the animals to lighten their load. She opened the door and shot at them, "that man might have a wife. A child and a story. And you want to leave him here? In the woods to be eaten?" her emerald eyes were blazing. "Shame on you all." She climbed back into the carriage, listening to the guards heaving their fallen comrade onto the back of the carriage. And then they were off again.

Clary watched through the window as they rolled on, staring through the rain that had lightened up at last. She was looking for their mysterious savior. Well, mysterious to her. The guards seemed to know who he was pretty well.

She was intrigued.

And she saw no trace of him the entire way back to Alicante. Clary was glad her father had made it a quiet event, not had the streets out in celebration. It made her feel uncomfortable.

A shadow caught Clary's eye now as they entered the castle grounds. It was gone by the time she looked. She felt unease settle in her stomach. Clary also felt cold. Very cold. Her clothes were soaked through, and a puddle was at her feet from where the water had been dripping through the tear in the roof. She was certainly in no state to be presented to her father just yet.

The carriage rolled to a stop at the gate. Clary sighed in relief- apart from the trio that had attacked them, there had been nothing else. A relatively smooth ride.

It was the sound of hooves pounding against the flagstones that made her look out of the window once more. Her savior was back. Sat atop his obsidian colored horse, hood still up, she couldn't see his face. All she saw was his back and damp clothes, that massive bow slung over his back with a silver hilted sword. He stopped the horse before the guard, walking towards him, saying words she couldn't hear from the guards next to her chattering. But the man he was talking to went pale and started to back up. And then the riders sword was unsheathed, tip at the head guard's throat. His eyes were bulging in fear, a light trickle of red running down his throat from where it had nicked his Adam's apple.

Everyone was as silent as the grave, watching, and Clary could hear the rider speaking.

_"You attempted to assassinate the Princess of Alicante and all of Idris. Deny it and your head will be on the floor before you have chance to say another word."_

The head guard said nothing, causing the rider to lower his blade and order the others, "seize him. And take him to the dungeons. I need to see Valentine and tell him I have found his traitor in the guard. There were four sent to kill Princess Clarissa. Three died and I sought the fourth out and forced the words from him." A flurry of movement as the man was seized, and Clary felt distinctly sick- this was the man who had sent those beasts after her? To kill her?

There were traitors everywhere. Who could you even trust these days?

He was dragged off and the rider turned around, nudging his horse forward. Clary was still staring at the man being yanked away. As the horse passed, she heard the words "Welcome home Princess." By the time she'd looked up at the rider, he was gone.

**-Hunted-**

_"Is she unharmed?"_

_"I assure you my king, she is fine. I took them out before they even got within a meter of her."_

"Excellent." The king leaned back in his throne, letting out a low sigh. "I had no idea that John would be a traitor. This troubles me; if the Captain of the guard is a traitor, who else could be one?"

The assassin shook his head, tugging his hood down. Long ragged hair the colour of sunlight fell from it. "He's under the impression that if he gives up names, you will let him live."

A snort of laughter. "After his attempt on my daughter's life? He really is a fool. No, as soon as the words are from his lips, I want him dead. And his body hung in Angel Square. Let it remind the other traitors that their fate will mirror his own." He was in the most foul of moods and Jace could tell. And vengeful. People were going to die, and probably by his own hand like John Greenarrow.

"And what about me?" he asked now.

The king closed his eyes. "Keep an eye on Clarissa. The castle is a fortress, but it's possible to get through." He chuckled to himself. "I think you proved that when you were a boy."

Jace bowed his head, staring at the floor. "I'll keep an eye on her."

"Good. And I want an update on John's situation. I want those names. Legit names, not fake ones."

"Yes my king." He started to turn away.

"Oh and Jace-"

He paused. "Yes?"

"I wouldn't alert Clarissa to your presence. It might, ah, frighten her. Make her uneasy."

Jace smirked at that, but the king couldn't see. "Very well."

"Protect her, Jace. With your life." That was the king's final words on the matter.

When Jace left the throne room, it was swiftly shut behind him, the guards posted their avoiding his eyes- they knew who he was very well. Plus his profession. The runes lacing his arms, back and chest were invisible to mundane eyes, and Jace was thankful for that. The kings and his sons were the same. There was a trio of Shadowhunter's inside the castle and no one even knew.

The corridors were silent as Jace prowled down them, heading back towards his room.

Jace had seen her before, but never spoken to her. When she'd left the castle for Britannia, she had been sixteen. And now she was very nearly eighteen. From what he'd seen of her in the carriage, she'd turned into a beauty with such vibrant emerald eyes. That hair too… it had been so fiery. Jace had seen one photo of Queen Jocelyn before she died, and he was startled by how much Clary looked like her mother. Where Jonathan was the spitting image of his father, Clary was her mother.

After swiftly changing into gear, strapping a sword across his back and numerous daggers dotted all around his body like inside his jacket, inside his boots and inside his sleeves and waist, Jace set off towards the royal chambers.

The guards set outside her door told him quietly that Clary was asleep. The journey and attack had taken its toll on her. Plus, since she'd been wet for so long, she'd come down with a cold. It made Jace roll his eyes and mutter under her breath that she was a fool. For half an hour he'd sat atop his horse watching the Princess literally jump in puddles like a small child. Silly girl.

To the guard's relief, the assassin moved off without another word.

**-Hunted-**

Clary didn't even leave her bed that night. She couldn't stomach anything to eat either. It made her feel miserable. She wanted to see her father and brother so much it hurt. Jonathan had been sending her fire messages and talking to her by projection, but it wasn't the same. The Princess missed the touch of her elder brother. The stories he'd read to her when she couldn't sleep when they'd been children. At least, before he'd turned into such an asshat that didn't have much time for her anymore. He was too involved with training with his instructors and their father. Prince and heir to the throne, but it didn't mean he had to rub it into everyone's faces.

Clary secretly dreaded the moment Jonathan became King. He'd be even more ruthless than their father.

A shadow would creep across the kingdom when that day came.

She pulled herself to her feet now, gazing around her bedroom. It had been two years, but everything was still how she remembered it. Clary smiled at the picture of herself and Jonathan when they'd been children. He'd been ten, she eight. The carnival was in Alicante and they'd had their faces painted. Clary's had been a tiger while Jonathan's had been a white tiger. He'd teased his sister that with her hair, she really did look like a tiger. Clary had poked fun that with his own hair that was as white as snow, he looked like a white tiger for real.

That they were the same, but different.

The picture was Clary sat on her brother's lap with their faces squished together. Clary had always adored that photo.

She turned away from it now, staring up at the four poster bed that she'd always had. The wood was a deep dark red, the curtains black. But in the summer, the curtains were white. It didn't match at all and she hated it. The curtains that were currently drawn were hiding the opulent balcony she had that overlooked the city. There was a sofa usually on there, plus a table. In the summer she usually fell asleep on the soft dark red leather.

Clary pulled the curtains aside, sniffing a little from how bad her cold was getting. She planned on calling for some lemon water, or something to ease it off. The glass panels of the double doors were worked with intricate flowers. Midnight Flowers, her father had told her. After running a finger over a gilded petal that was particularly pretty, Clary turned the small golden key in the lock and opened the door to the balcony. With a smile she stepped onto it, running a hand over the sofa there. The table had a vase with sunflowers in set in the middle.

The view was breathtaking. In the distance, she could see the shimmer of LakeLyn. And below her, the market was bustling. So much life.

A loud clatter overhead caught Clary's attention now.

With a frown she looked up… and promptly dived back into her room as two figures came crashing down, smashing the table and vase with blades out...

**-Review :D**


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